A Darkness Within
by
Stephen Champ


  Chris Jones shut the door of his government issued car. He was new to the bureau and was excited about being handed such an important case so early in his fledgling career in the FBI. He was of about average height. He had brown hair and light green eyes with some red mixed in to them. He wore a dark brown coat over his blue collared shirt and slacks on this cold gray New England morning. He pushed his way through the excited crowd of on-lookers and up to the police barricade. He showed the police officer trying to keep the crowd back his badge and was let through.
  "Where is Detective O’Conner?" he asked the officer.
  "Inside, sir," replied the policeman.
  "Thank you," said Chris, walking away.
  He walked past the door that the police had burst through after the twelve-hour stand off earlier and stepped into the dank warehouse. Crime scene photographers and police forensics experts scurried around like ants, taking pictures and samples for further examination. A man and woman stood in the middle of the crime scene discussing something. Chris approached them.
  "Detective O’Conner?" he said to the man, offering him his hand. The man gave him a blank stare.
  "That’s me," said the woman curtly. She was about 5’3" and short blonde hair. Her eyes were a bright blue and she wore a dark green coat over her blue blouse and gray professional-looking skirt.
  "Oh, please excuse me," said Chris, blushing slightly. He offered her his hand.
  "That’s alright," O’Conner replied sarcastically. She shook his hand.
  "You’re heading up this investigation, correct?" asked Chris.
  "That’s right. And you are?" she stated plainly.
  "Agent Chris Jones. Federal Bureau of Investigation," said Chris, revealing his badge.
  "Detective Andrea O’Conner. I assume you’re here to take over?" she asked coldly.
  "You assume right. Why don’t you tell me what happened here?" he said, regaining his composure.
  "Well, in one word: massacre. We have been having a lot of disappearances lately and after someone saw a couple of guys kidnapping the victim. We tracked them down to this warehouse. Apparently these guys were a bunch of psychos. They would kidnap anyone and bring them back here. Then they would go about torturing them and cutting them up for some sick ritual. They would hang them on these meat hooks here," she explained to Chris. "Or they would gut them, or maybe impale them on these spiked metal rods. We surrounded the building. When the S.W.A.T. team made entrance we found they had killed themselves...well, not before they had cut out the innards of their most recent victim."
  "Why do you think it was for a ritual?" asked Chris as he looked around the room. The floor was caked with dark bloodstains that ran over to drains in the center of the large room. Implements of torture were scattered on metal surgical tables. Cruel looking blades and hooks with dried blood tarnishing their rust-coated outside. Large hooks and sharp thorny steel rods were spread out around the room.
  "The wackjobs were all dressed in the same dark red robes," she told him. "And these scorch marks on the floor seem to be in some kind of pattern that we can’t figure out yet."
  She was right. It appeared to be that some kind of fire had been lit on the floor at some point. Chris bent down and touched the black marks.
  "Looks like they didn’t want us to know," said Chris. "That’s why I’m here. Apparently there have been a lot of these-" he stopped short when a photographer screamed and dropped her camera. Officers drew their weapons and ran over to her. Chris and Andrea rushed towards them.
  "He’s still alive," said one of the officers, referring to the man doubled over in pain at a stab wound he was grasping in his hands.
  "Get the paramedics!" said Chris to one of the officers as he kneeled down next to the man. He was pale and a pool of his own blood had formed around him. He looked up at Chris; his lips trying to form words. Chris put his ear next to the dying man mouth.
  "I’m with the Order...They are trying to bring back-" his words were interrupted by a bout of coughing that flecked Chris’ face with blood, "-to bring back.... The Blight...must stop t-them." The man went limp in Chris’ arms. The paramedics came running up as Chris closed the man’s eyes. He stood up and wiped the man’s blood from his face. Andrea was staring at him.
  "What did he say?" she asked him.
  "I...I’m not sure," he responded, watching the paramedics drape a clean white sheet over the dead man’s body.

  The next day Chris was hard at work back at his office. He would work diligently for about ten minutes before the words of the dying man came back to him. They haunted him. He stared down at his paperwork thinking about what he had said.
  "Agent Jones," said a deep voice. Chris looked up suddenly. The voice had startled him.
  "Yes?" he replied quickly.
  "I’m Special Agent Miller," said the man flatly. He was about 6’2" with black hair and piercing dark brown eyes. "Come with me."
  Chris sat a little stunned for a second or two before he got up out of his chair. He was going to ask the man a question but he had already turned around and was heading down the row of desks out into the hallway. The man walked quickly in a wide stride that made Chris almost have to jog to keep up with him. They walked down hallway after hallway in silence turning and weaving through the labyrinth of plain corridors that were so popular in federal buildings. They came to a door with a scanner next to it. The sign on the door read "Authorized Personnel Only" but did not elaborate on what was behind it. Chris looked around. He noticed that a camera above the door was pointed straight at him. He looked away. Miller took his id badge out of his coat and held it up to the scanner. The red light on the scanner turned off and a green one lit up. This was followed by a sound of the door unlocking. Miller turned the knob and pushed the door open. He gave Chris a look like he was waiting. Chris stepped inside a small room with an armed guard behind a metal mesh screen. There was another door in front of Chris. Miller stepped in behind him and closed the door. The guard asked Chris for his gun and Chris gave it over hesitantly. The guard nodded to Miller and unlocked the other door in the room. Miller went through the next door that opened up to a long staircase that looked like it went underground. They both walked down the dimly lit stairway finally emerging in a huge room. It was filled with scientists wearing white lab coats and working on a million different things that Chris could spend years examining. The room buzzed with activity. The scientists were so busy not one looked up from their work at Miller or Chris. An amazingly large cross dominated one giant wall of the cavernous room.
  "Where the hell are we?" said Chris to Miller.
  "Certainly not Hell, of that I’m sure," said Miller without looking at him. He guided Chris from one end of the room to the other. They went through another door and into an office. A large man talked with a gangly looking scientist. They both turned around when Chris and Miller entered.
  "Ah. Agent Jones, please come in. Have a seat," said the large man. He was shorter than Miller but much bigger around. He was balding and had a horrible looking comb over. He sat down in his chair on the other side of the desk. The thin scientist and Miller remained standing. "I am Jim McAllen. I run this division. You are probably wondering where you are? Well, before we answer that we would like to ask you some questions. Now you recall going to the crime scene yesterday?"
  "Yes..." said Chris hesitantly.
  "You found a dying man. What did he tell you?"
  "Umm, I can’t really be sure. Something about an Order and people he referred to as They and something about a blight."
  Jim’s jovial look suddenly turned grim. He nodded slowly to himself. The scientist in the corner looked shaken and nervous at what Chris had told them. Chris looked around confused.
  "What’s going on? Where am I? What is this place?" asked Chris getting more and more nervous himself.
  McAllen didn’t respond right away but when he did his tone was filled with strength that demanded respect. "Agent Jones, are you a religious man?"
  "Uh, not really...why?" said Chris.
  "Agent Jones, there is a whole other world out there. One that very few know about. It is the Darkness."
  "The Darkness?"
  "Yes. Hell. Satan. He is real, Agent Jones. And so are his wicked henchmen. For thousands of years now mankind has fought the Darkness. We were fighting a losing battle until the Order of the Holy Knights came along. First started by the Catholic Church, they protect all mankind. But our forefathers didn’t necessarily think they could protect everyone so they started their own agency, Section 13, which was later incorporated into the Federal Bureau of Investigation. This very building was built in the ruins of the old base which the Catholic Church put here long ago to combat the Darkness. The Order is now one of our greatest allies. You have unwittingly stumbled onto a dark plot to destroy mankind. The man you saw die was a spy for the Order. The murderers that you found dead were satanic cultists. They were corrupted by the Darkness for the minds of humans are weak and the Darkness works in cunning warped ways. We need your help Agent Jones. Our own agents are to busy carrying out the Holy War in other parts of the world; stopping plots and cults just as dangerous as this one."
  Chris just sat staring at the men around the room. He looked at their faces, but no one seemed to be kidding. "You are all insane," he said finally.
  "That’s just what everyone says. We’ll have to show you," said McAllen, getting up. They walked out of the office and over to a firing range. The range looked slightly odd to Chris. There were no targets at the other end.
  "Get a specimen," said McAllen to the thin scientist. The man came back with two armed guards pushing a trolley. On the trolley was a large box with hexagramic sigils burned into the wood. The guards were not only wearing pistols but swords too. They put the trolley in position at the end of the firing range and locked the box into large metal clamps. Miller stepped up to the firing range and pulled out a pistol from under his coat. It didn’t look like any pistol Chris had ever seen.
  "Release it," said McAllen. The scientist pressed a button on the wall. Hydraulic pistons tore off the front of the box facing Miller. Nothing happened for a couple seconds. Then a beast from the very depths of hell burst out the box at a run. It looked like a huge dog that had had it’s skin torn off in places. Open sores bled with pus. It’s eyes were filled with hate so pure humans couldn’t understand it. It craved blood and it was intent on getting it. Chris jumped back only to be held in place by the armed guard. Miller stood absolutely still, almost unaware of the demonic being that wanted to rend him limb from limb.
  "Fire," said McAllen calmly. Miller’s pistol barked loudly over and over again. Each shot hit home, blowing great holes in the demonic beast. If the creature felt any pain then it showed no sign. It just kept coming. Miller emptied the whole clip into the beast. It finally stopped when it’s brain cavity was finally punctured and it’s head exploded in goblets of brain matter and thick black blood.
  "Well, Agent Jones?" said McAllen, turning to him.
  Chris didn’t speak for some very long seconds. Then he finally looked up at McAllen with a look of horror on his face. "Why me?"
  "Because whether you like it or not, you are already involved."

  Chris had to go through a ritual to become part of Section 13. He was bathed in holy water and blessed by a priest. They then used an ancient process to instantly teach him all the basics he needed to know to become a Guardian, or member of Section 13 that fought the demonic beings. He suddenly knew how to skillfully fight with any kind of hand held weapon. The priests tattooed hexagramic wards into his skin to protect him from the corruption of the Darkness. He was given a sword that had been made using a process not know to the public, making it extremely strong. An archbishop of the church also blessed the sword to make it fatal to demons. The sword emitted an energy field that could cut through almost anything. He was given a special pistol. When one of its bullets punctured the flesh it would explode not only blowing chunks out of the target but also releasing holy water at the same time.

  Chris, Miller, and the scrawny scientist who Chris later found out was named Peter Gillian, walked down the steps to the archives. The redone plain white walls turned to worn stone the farther down they traveled. The lights were spread farther and farther apart the wires running up above. More hexagamic wards were carved into the walls. They finally came to the archive. Chris stood looking around in amazement. The small stairway that could only fit two people shoulder to shoulder now opened out into the largest room he had ever seen. One could not make out the ceiling for it was so far away that it faded into shadow. There were rows upon rows of shelves that extended for hundreds of feet in every direction. The shelves were so tall that suspended walkways had been built to reach the upper most books and scrolls.
  "Almost the entire history of man is cataloged in this room and others like it around the world," said Peter, amused by the look of awe on Chris’ face. "Men spend their whole lifetimes trying just reading one hundred by hundred square foot sections. What we want is over here."
  Peter led the two men past aisles and aisles of book, papers, scrolls, tomes, and other forms of communication to a section guarded by armed men every hundred feet. The books they were about to examine could drive weak-minded men insane. Peter pulled an old tome from one of the shelves. It looked like it had been bound and rebound an untold number of times. He flipped through the faded pages till he found what he was looking for.
  "Agent Jones, do you know about the Black Death?" asked Peter, with the same nervous look that he always seemed to have.
  "Yeah, wasn’t it a plague during the fourteenth century that was carried by fleas. It killed nearly half of England’s population right?" said Chris.
  "Yes, you’re half right. It was a plague, but fleas didn’t pass it on. That’s just the story the Order came up with. Actually, there is a demon lord. One of Satan’s right hands. An avatar through which Satan could wreak destruction on mankind. No one knows his real name but the Order called him The Blight back in the elder days. He was banished by the Order later that century but not before he and his cults had killed millions of innocent people from spreading his foul plague," said Peter. The book showed an image of death touching people in the fields and people in their mansions. Then on the next page it showed a figure with a glowing halo of light fighting a giant monster of darkness.
  "That’s the same Blight that the Order spy was talking about?" asked Chris.
  "I’m afraid so. The disease he spreads can not be cured by conventional means. If he were to get out now he would reek untold death on mankind. His very presence infects all that are near. His cults become carriers and willingly spread the disease among the population," Peter told him.
  "How do we stop him?" asked Chris.
  Peter pulled out a map with tiny pins stuck into it. "These pins represent the same kind of ‘altar’ you found at the crime scene. If we connect them with one of the most common symbols of the Darkness." Peter took a red felt tip pen and drew an inverted pentagram so that it connected all the pins. He pointed at the middle of the star. It was another abandoned warehouse. "My guess would be right there. We have to stop the cultists from summoning him into our realm"
  Just then Miller got a call from McAllen. He listened to him for a couple seconds. "Ok. Yes, sir," He hung up and looked down at Chris and Peter who were now staring at him. "Looks like you were right about the location Peter, but it looks like we have less time than we thought. The cultists have started the summoning already."

  Chris, Miller, and the men of Section 13 under their command sped toward the building in an armored van. Miller was polishing a large hammer that looked like the warhammers warriors used in medieval times. It was blessed just like Chris’ sword, but its energy field would let loose a powerful blow of force that could crush almost anything. After inspecting his sword and pistol over and over again Chris got more nervous and decided it was a bad idea to hold such a lethal weapon when his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The other men in the van carried large metal shields much like the ones of police S.W.A.T. teams. They also carried the same pistols Chris had been issued, including the demon-killing ammunition. Chris now stared at Miller. The man didn’t look the least bit worried. Chris wondered what could be going through his mind. Miller took a small Bible out of his coat pocket and flipped through its creased and memorized pages. He began to intone a quiet prayer of protection that had been used by the Order for thousands of years. After he finished he looked up at Chris, staring back at him. Chris could not read him; his face showed no emotion.
  The van pulled to an abrupt stop. Miller quickly opened the back doors and hopped out. His pistol scanned the face of the building for any enemies. Chris took a deep breath and made sure his body armor was tight before grabbing his sword and hopping out of the back as well. The other men of Section 13 formed a protective wall around the two men, shielding them from any gunfire the cultists might try and rain down on them from one of the buildings many windows. They quickly ran to the edge of the building and to a door in the side. One of the men kicked the door in and immediately had his head blown off. Gunfire poured from the doorway as the cultists tried to keep the agents out. One of the agents tossed a grenade in through the open doorway. It was followed by panicked yells and the grenade exploding. The agents went in and took cover behind some crates. They immediately came under fire again. This time the agents of Section 13 returned fire. A furious firefight broke out. The agents were outnumbered. Chris killed two cultists, their body cavities exploding in a spray of red mist as the explosive rounds from his pistol torn them open. Two more agents were killed in the exchange of fire. Chris could see more cultists farther in the building surrounding a flaming pit, chanting. He took at shot at them but a black shield of dark energy deflected his bullet. He was next to Miller now.
  "What do we do?" Chris shouted at him.
  "We get up close and send these heretics to the hell they belong," he replied, picking up the shield of a fallen Section 13 member and holstering his pistol. He broke from cover and ran at the cultists. Chris followed. Gripping his sword tightly, he thumbed the activation button and its energy field hummed to life. Miller had crossed the gap and was smashing the cultists aside in wide brutal arches. Chris plunged his sword into gut of one man and fired his pistol point blank at another, the explosive shell blowing his head off. He fought with one cultist as the man attempted to stab him with a cruel looking knife that radiated dark power. Chris saw Miller running toward the cultists trying to summon Blight. A large cultist stopped Miller. The man had a long black sword that he swung at Miller’s head. Miller blocked the sword with his hammer, crackling energies flashed from the two weapons. This new cultist was obviously the leader. They traded blows viscously. Neither seemed to be winning until Miller lost his balance for the tiniest of moments. That was all the cult leader needed. He stuck his long cruel blade all the way through Miller’s chest. Chris cried out to Miller. Miller was not done though. He gathered the last of his strength to lift his large hammer and swing it at the cult leader’s head. With his sword still inside the other man the cult leader could do nothing to prevent the hammer from turning his head to jelly. Miller slumped down to his knees for a second before falling over onto the blood-soaked floor. Chris was suddenly enraged by Miller’s death that he finished off the cultist he had been fighting, cutting the man’s head clean off. He knew that this was not the time to mourn. He ran at the cultists who were still trying to summon the vile greater demon into the real world. He was not quick enough. The flames in the pit turned a dark crimson. Chris stopped and shielded his eyes from the unholy light. The cultists offered their lives as a sacrifice to the demon lord. Their rib cages burst open and the blood drained from their bodies. The blood hovered above the flames and then was sucked in. The flames then turned midnight black. Out of the unholy fire, a large deformed skeleton cloaked in the same black flames emerged. It was about eight and a half feet high with a large deformed skull. It had large tusks jutting from its pronounced jaw. Large sharp claws flexed as the demon woke from a seven hundred-year-old slumber. It opened its mouth wide and let out a blood chilling roar that was so full of malice and hate that it made Chris’ ears bleed. The demon reeked of death and destruction. Chris’ demonic ward burned white hot as the demon’s disease tried to corrupt his flesh. The demon noticed this and seemed almost surprised at the presence of a demon hunter.
  Chris now knew he had nothing left to do but kill this abomination. His rage at Miller’s death fueled him.
  "Die, hell spawn!" he yelled loudly. He rushed at the demon filled with righteous fury. The demon swung one of its huge flame enshrouded claws at him, attempting to bat him aside. He blocked with his sword. The blow pushed him aside a couple paces. He stabbed at the demon lord, but it moved away. It was next to attack. It attempted to spear him on one of its razor sharp claws, but Chris turned the blow aside. It swiped at him with the other hand quickly. Chris was ready and swung his own sword. His blade cut through the demon’s wrist. The large hand came off and faded to dust. Purple ichor sprayed Chris; it started to burn the outer layer of his body armor slowly. The demon cried out in rage at the defiance of this pitiful human that dared stand against it. The demon lord struck at him again but was foolish enough to lean in. Chris ducked under the razor sharp claw that cut a deep wound in his arm and shoulder. He thrust his sword up into the demon’s jaw with all his might. His blade speared the demon’s head. It let out a cry of malice and anger at being defeated. The black flame extinguished and it’s body turned to dust. Chris’ breathing was heavy and his wound poured out blood. He blacked out.

  Chris could hear things again. He desperately opened his eyes. He was so weak. There seemed to be someone talking to him. "Congratulations Special Agent Jones, you have fought your first demon and come out alive. We would like to welcome you to Section 13," the voice was that of McAllen. "Too bad Miller was killed. He was a good man. But you’re better, and we need you. You are still human though and that means that in this career you could end up turning on us." Chris was strapped to a cold metal table in the center of a dark room. "We have found Guardians are much easier to control and remain loyal when they don’t remember what they used to be. You will only remember destroying demons. You won’t have a past. Destroying the Darkness will be your only meaning in life." They were going to erase his memory? They were going to make him a cold unfeeling machine that they could control. He was going to become just like Miller. And when he died no one would mourn for him. He tried to shout at them not to do this to him but he couldn’t talk. "Don’t worry it will all be over soon." McAllen nodded to Peter. Peter walked over and injected a sedative into Chris’ neck. As the light faded again, Chris felt Peter place a metal device over his forehead.

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